Devil on Your Back
by Lizicia
Summary: 'And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off.' Jane/Lisbon, post-4x09.


**A/N:** So, maybe I'm a bit upset at the fact the show's riding over the whole 'Red John is still there' issue and I needed an outlet for that. Or maybe I was just listening to amazing music and felt like writing something. In any case, this is my second Mentalist fic, trying to make sense of things in my own way. If you've seen the latest episodes, you're fine, spoiler-wise.

**Disclaimer:** The Mentalist is the creation of Bruno Heller and I don't own anything besides my inspiration. Lyrics from _Shake It Out_ by Florence + the Machine.

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><p><em>And every demon wants his pound of flesh<em>

_but I like to keep some things to myself,_

_I like to keep my issues strong._

He didn't want to talk to her and yet, a part of him longed to make a connection, to try and make sense of everything that had happened. She seemed to sense this desire but also understood his need to be on his own and he almost thought she'd forgotten all about it but this was Lisbon. She never forgot, never strayed from the path she'd chosen and it made Jane feel safe and incredibly in danger at the same time.

The first time he got away from her, he simply vanished into thin air, like the con artist he was - _had been_, he had to remind himself - and afterwards pretended like she had never told him they needed to talk. But now, sitting at the table, and sharing an ice cream, he felt within him the impossibility of escaping Lisbon's inquiries.

Lisbon didn't say it but her eyes darted back and forth, seemingly at ease with observing the crowd but really trying to look at him, trying to make him say something first. Because even with all her desire to know, to help, to fix this, he had to begin.

"Dugan really went through the motions of becoming a man who had had redemption. He proved himself to be a better man, showed Anna what he wanted and saw what she wanted. He might just turn out fine, after all, and all it took was to die for the time being."

So it was she who begun but it was baby steps, only slightly in the direction of their real conversation. Jane flashed a quick smile, the kind that portrayed charm and ease but really masked his unwillingness to be real.

"Ah, yes, the unruly and egotistical quarterback becomes a changed man. Donates all his possessions, marries the right woman and lives happily ever after. And everything's better."

Now she frowned at him but didn't say anything, the knowledge of his actions stopping her from even responding. It pleased and frustrated him at the same time, to know how well she could see through him.

"We have to talk about Red John, Jane."

Straight for the kill. So she was upset with him, for brushing this off like it was nothing. Jane knew Lisbon could be brusque, could be so brutally honest it hurt but usually she preferred to refrain from it.

"Sure, what do you want to know? How he keeps taunting me with his presence, keeps making my life miserable, comes back from the dead?" He could be like this as well. They could both hurt each other and not go around in circles, struggling to survive.

Again, she gave him a look and stood up, walking away and expecting him to follow. And he did, right back through the CBI building, walking upstairs, until she unlocked the office they'd used to hide Dugan and closed the door behind him. Yes, she could be harsh but she still minded his feelings and gave them privacy, which irked him even more for some reason.

"He didn't come back from the dead, Jane, because you never killed him."

"You believed me when I said Timothy Carter was not Red John?"

"You believed it."

Her willingness to believe in him was really unsettling. He'd lied about it to a jury, to a judge, had tricked the law into letting him go unpunished and she still stood by his side.

Lisbon exhaled loudly at his silence and took to talking herself. "He was a bad man, a serial killer, even if he wasn't _the_ serial killer. So, I'm not sorry for his death and I don't blame you anymore. And when we found Panzer and the smiley, I knew for sure that Carter couldn't have been Red John."

Panzer. Another piece to the puzzle, another person who had had to die, whom Jane had sent into certain death.

"And you're not sorry for Panzer's death because he was the San Joaquin killer and what's a little blood between two serial killers anyway, right?"

He couldn't understand how Lisbon could brush off a man's death just like that. She eyed him curiously but refused to say anything more. Jane could see the wheels turning, however, knew what she must have thought of him, of his actions and wanted to up the ante, to bring all the emotions out into the open.

"It doesn't bother you that he's dead, fine. But I deliberately made him insult Red John, dared Panzer to try and confront him with his words, I made him do that. How can you possibly compartmentalize that, _Teresa_?"

Her given name finally gave the desired effect; he could see the anger in her rising, could practically count the seconds until she would confront this.

"What do you want me to say, Jane? Yes, you did wrong by Panzer; yes, you're a murderer?" Something flashed in her eyes, a recognition, an awareness and suddenly Jane felt like he wasn't in control and he wondered if he'd ever been during this conversation.

"You want me to say that you're guilty, so you would have more to carry on your shoulders, more reason to hide out on your attic, to retreat into the darkness and never come out. Yes, I see Carter and Panzer as two lives lost but it is not your fault because they made their own destiny, by killing people who'd done nothing. My anger for you does not compare to how disgusted I am by their deeds, by the masks they wore every day to the people that knew them."

Lisbon's voice took on a steel she used when dealing with suspects and Jane knew she was telling the truth, knew she was venting but at the same time heard how right she was.

"How could you possibly stand there and tell me all of this? We all wear masks and some of us hide terrible things behind them, things too horrific for anyone else to know about." He got lost in his emotions again, losing his edge and his desire to make her confront anything.

"I caused Panzer's death, don't you see that? I provoked him, I knew what he would say, how he would react and I was almost certain this would get him killed!"

He didn't mean to raise his voice but this was his only mechanism now, knowing that sarcasm and snark would not break the steel in her voice.

"You live your life with the devil on your shoulder, _Patrick_, so when something threatens to upset that balance, when something brings in more light, you run away because you cannot handle it. I think you want the team to run away from you, so we don't enter into the darkness with you but you have no control over it. You are not a killer but you want to carry the guilty conscience anyway."

With that, it was his resolve that crumbled, the steel in his voice that was broken and he sat down on the pitiful couch, slumping into it like he'd lost all his strength at once. She called him Patrick but there was no desire to hurt him and her honesty drained everything he had left to fight her. This was wrong; he couldn't show weakness and he couldn't let her fix this, lest Red John would come after her but the need to accept her support - shaken, but not evaporated - overpowered any other thought in his head.

"With a devil like Red John, I am in the darkness forever and I can't let you in." His broken whisper finally voiced his deepest fears, already seen by her and he hated, yet longed for this. This _you_ was only her, even if he didn't explicitly say it out loud but he had a feeling she would know.

"It's not about coming in, Jane, it's about leaving the dark and you can be helped, if you let us." If you let _me_. She sat beside him but didn't touch him, for which he was grateful, not knowing how his disturbed emotions might spin even more out of control if she did that.

They had talked and not really talked because their issues needed more than one session of exchanged sentences. It was never about what they could say, so they kept on sitting on the couch, not touching but Jane wondered _if_ he could rid himself of his demons with her by his side, _when_ he could finally believe like she did.

_And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back_

_So shake him off._

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><p><strong>AN:** So, I don't know. It is kinda something but isn't at the same time, I just felt the words come out and the story spun to a very different ending compared to what I had in mind when I started. As always, I appreciate any feedback.


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